Victory Conditions (The Rashomon Remix)
by karabair
Summary: After a mission gone - not wrong, Miles would say, but unexpected - Miles and Ivan's squad regroups to assess the damage. Remix of 'Improvisation' by FAWatson archiveofourown/works/2460323)


Kostolitz

Kostolitz knew an argument between Vor when he saw one, so he just leaned back in his chair and listened.

"I'm merely proposing," said Miles Vorkosigan, "that when you achieve a decisive and, in the words of the Academy's chief instructor, wholly unprecedented victory in a critical training exercise – in those circumstances you might, for once in your life, consider treating your squad leader to a drink."

"Fascinating proposition," said Ivan Vorpatril. "Allow me to counterpropose that when said squad leader chooses to lead your team through a sewer, break in to an experimental weapons laboratory –"

"We called their attention to an important vulnerability in the security system."

"- and set an imperial military base _on fire_ , which causes your squad members, as a direct result of these actions, to spend hours in an interrogation room, then, maybe, and I know this is a radical suggestion, but maybe that squad leader owes his _squad_ a drink –"

"It wasn't an interrogation. It was simply a mission debrief, perfectly rational procedure in this situation –"

" – and possibly his firstborn –"

"In fact it's exactly what I would have done in this circumstance."

"Although I do not know what anyone would want with your firstborn, since the idea of a little Miles Vorkosigan running around the galaxy . . ."

This was obviously some kind of incomprehensible family quarrel, with roots that stretched into unfathomed centuries and none of them were getting anything to drink until it reached whatever unholy conclusion it was careening toward. So Kostolitz leaned over to the fourth member of the party and murmured, "I think the real reason they put us through these small squad exercises is to see what we can learn about group social dynamics."

"What are we supposed to be, umm, learning?" said Cor Jesek, looking slightly less like a small animal caught in the headlamp of a lightflyer than he had when he accidentally set the weapons lab on fire, but just barely. Jesek was an earnest, timid kid from a country district. He looked like the model of a Barrayaran military cadet (especially now that he was cleaned up from his tumble in the cesspool and freshly uniformed). But as soon as Jesek opened his mouth, he came across like the guy in the opening act of a war holovid, who you knew would be the first to die. His record in training exercises, before today, seemed to bear that out. It was too bad; Kostolitz always felt sympathy for that guy. He just wasn't someone you wanted standing next to you when shit went down.

But the four of them had won the day, in spite of many odds, and Kostolitz was feeling generous toward his less confident teammate. "Right now," he told Jesek, "We're learning that, if you sit quietly and don't make any sudden moves, the aristocracy will argue themselves silly over which of them is going to pick up your tab." For the last part, Kostolitz raised his voice just enough that Miles and Ivan could hear him, but plausibly pretend that they didn't. He thought he saw a smile twitch across Miles' face, but it didn't slow the cousins down from sniping at each other.

Jesek, who had clearly not picked up on the subtleties of how to pitch his voice, said, out loud and confused, "So the Vor are always supposed to pay for the, uhh –" No commoner wanted to call himself a commoner, these days, but the finer points of terminology were still up for debate– "The – uhh - not - Vor?"

This brought the argument to a halt, the two cousins pivoting toward the baffled cadet. If Jesek looked like a model cadet, Ivan always looked like an actor playing a model cadet in a training vid. This impressed the hell out of Kostolitz when Miles first introduced them, but he'd since amended the comparison to "an actor in a training vid, who's perpetually on a break between shoots, and is eager to get back to the party –- to which common folk, naturally, are not invited - going on in his trailer."

Miles looked like, well, Miles. That had taken some getting used to, honestly. Kostolitz had been raised, in the Barrayaran way, to idealize physical perfection and be wary of deformity. But now that he'd gotten to know the man, his short stature and crooked back were beside the point. Miles strategized like he was two meters tall and plasma-arc proof, and that fit Kostolitz's idea of a Barrayaran officer just fine.

"Don't let us interrupt the family feud," said Kostolitz. "We were enjoying it from an anthropological perspective." He nudged Jesek, wondering if he'd have the nerve to repeat the question.

"I've never gone drinking with, umm, Vor, and I wasn't sure if it was assumed one of you would pay because of – I guess, because of honor?" Jesek persisted, even as he seemed to realize that he was out of his depth.

"I wouldn't count on it," Miles said, almost gently.

Not that Kostolitz was surprised that the subtleties of Barrayaran class politics eluded Jesek. Until Kostolitz enlightened him, in a whisper, during the course of the training exercise, Jesek had been utterly unaware that their Vorkosigan was one of _those_ Vorkosigans – a connection Kostolitz had twigged within five minutes of meeting Miles during their officer candidacy trials.

"Miles is a cynic about the benevolent virtues of his social class," said Kostolitz, then risked a cheeky, "Almost as much as I am."

"For the record and so there's no mistake," said Ivan, "Either one of you would be welcome to my cherished Vorpatril honor, if in exchange you will explain to my mother why my allowance for the semester has once again proven insufficient."

Kostolitz knew nothing about Lady Vorpatril, but even Miles momentarily paled at the thought. "All right, I'll pay," he said, "But consider it an offering to appease the wrath of Aunt Alys."

"That settles it, then," said Kostolitz. At which point he waved to the barman and said, "Four of your best whiskeys. On me." He shrugged at the others. "I'm not Vor, but I'm not a pauper. Besides. Sewer, fire, debriefing, and all –- today was the most fun I've had since I came to the Academy."

"Oh." Miles grinned as though in receipt of a well-deserved compliment.

"Thank you very much," Ivan said, casting a withering look toward his cousin's bad manners. "And I'll be happy to get the next round. It'll be cheaper because this one –" He jabbed a thumb toward Miles " – always passes out after one drink."

"I don't –" Miles began, then glancing from an unconvinced Ivan to Kostolitz, who had accompanied Miles to his share of post-mission pub crawls, added lamely "-always. I'm developing a tolerance."

"Oh, _really_?" Ivan caught Kostolitz's eye, then signaled to the barman, and pointed at Miles. Together he and Kostolitz said, "Make his a double."

Miles crossed his arms and scowled around the table. "I hate you," he said – to his cousin, Kostolitz, and the world. But not very convincingly. "But let's not get too far off topic. We need to debrief about today's debriefing.

Kostolitz: Well, to start with, it was all of our idea.

Examiner: Which part? Infiltrating the fort through the tunnels? Raiding the underground supply room?

Kostolitz: All of it. Is that so hard to believe?

Examiner: Based on my observations of Barrayaran military training, consensus is much less typical than hierarchy.

Kostolitz: Well, we had a squad leader, sure.

Examiner: Cadet Vorkosigan.

Kostolitz: Yes. But everybody agreed.

Examiner: With Vorkosigan's ideas?

Kostolitz: Yeah. That is, no. It wasn't all Mi – Cadet Vorkosigan. Jesek picked the route. He read the maps and figured out where we needed to go, right on the fly. He's very good with maps, it turns out.

Examiner: Jesek had the foresight to bring the maps, but he had to figure out the route…on the fly?

Kostolitz: Well, no. I don't think he brought the maps.

Examiner: Who did then? Cadet Vorpatril?

Kostolitz: [nonverbal response, suggestive of contempt]

Examiner: Cadet Vorkosigan, then. Your squad leader.

Kostolitz: I don't like what you're implying. Miles didn't go in there planning to set anything on fire.

Examiner: You all did that together?

Kostolitz: Nobody planned it. That was an accident. We took advantage of the resources that were there. I figured it was all part of the test. And we all bear equal responsibility. Is that clear enough?

Examiner: Hmm. [silence] You've worked with Vorkosigan before?

Kostolitz: Sure.

Examiner: Frequently?

Kostolitz: More than once.

Examiner. Any particular reason for that?

Kostolitz: The alphabet.

Examiner: I don't follow.

Kostolitz: Kosigan. Comes right before Kostolitz.

Examiner: Ahh. I see now. If you put all the "Vor"s together, that could cause problems.

Kostolitz: For any number of reasons.

Examiner: You're not Vor.

Kostolitz: I'm not? I don't get reminded of that very frequently.

Examiner: Sarcasm won't come across well in the transcript, Cadet.

Kostolitz: No, I am not Vor. Yes, it gets brought to my attention with some regularity.

Examiner: By Cadet Vorkosigan?

Kostolitz: Not in that way, no. It comes up I conversation sometimes, sure. But he's not the type to shove it in your face.

Examiner: That's a lovely knife you have on your belt.

Kostolitz: This? Oh, it's, you know. Basically just a letter opener.

Examiner: May I see? [examines] This is exquisite work. I understand regulations allow any cadet to carry a personal sidearm, with proper permission, but it does seem a bit -

Kostolitz: - old-fashioned?

Examiner: Vorish. May I ask if it was a gift?

Kostolitz: I may not be Vor, but I can afford a [expletive] dagger.

Examiner: I noticed the Siegling's trademark here. That craftsman has been used by the Vorkosigan family for centuries.

Kostolitz: Can I have my knife back, please?

Examiner: [returns it] I didn't mean to upset you.

Kostolitz: Look, Miles took me shopping for knives when we got back from orbital free-fall training. He introduced me to old man Siegling, maybe he even helped me get a good deal. We're friends, we went shopping together. I don't understand why you're trying to make something of it.

Examiner: What could there be to make?

Kostolitz: I don't know. I can't figure out if you're trying to imply I'm Vorkosigan's lover or a retainer in his private army. [long pause] Which of course would be ridiculous.

Examiner: Because you find the concept absurd, or because Vorkosigan isn't the type?

Kostolitz: The type for which?

Examiner: I'm only asking questions, Cadet.

Kostolitz: I don't see what any of this has to do with the fire. If we're going to be in trouble, can't you just tell us?

Examiner: This is a purely informational session. I'm not concerned with disciplinary matters among cadets.

Vorpatril

Finally, Ivan thought, they were getting some place.

"Did you ever find out?" he asked Kostolitz.

"Find out what?"

"Which it is they're interested in nailing Miles for: sodomy or treason?" Ivan downed a self-satisfied sip of whiskey and added, "Innuendo on 'nail' not intended." Though, in retrospect, he was rather proud of it.

Jesek's eyes got big, and he made a rare foray into the conversation. "Surely those are very different accusations."

Kostolitz shrugged. "Like the man said, this isn't about Academy disciplinary matters. Whoever the man was. If you believe him."

Miles frowned. "It's all potential blackmail material is what it is. Sorry you're getting dragged into this, Kos."

Kostolitz was looking uneasy, so Ivan suggested, "Or just Vor politics. Which, sorry to say, aren't that different from blackmail half the time." Not that he took either suggestion about Miles's actions seriously. Ivan tried not to think too much about his cousin's intimate life – Miles had spent his vacations on Beta Colony, so God only knew where that could lead – but Kostolitz's attachment didn't seem like that type. As for private armies, Miles had surely learned his lesson. Besides. If Miles were up to such a thing, Ivan would no doubt have been dragged into it by now. "Miles always manages to attract the wrong sort of attention," Ivan said. "This is why I try to keep my activities low-profile."

"Low-profile," Miles repeated. His drink had been touched, but just barely, and Ivan belatedly remembered that the period between the initial rush of alcohol and the inevitable collapse was a particularly bad time to antagonize his cousin. Training those terrifyingly intense Vorkosigan eyes on Ivan, Miles said, "Is 'low-profile' how you would characterize your contributions to this particular mission?"

"Well, no, but not for lack of trying, thanks very much."

"Shall I start from the beginning?" Miles began to speak in an alarmingly accurate but still somehow unfair replication of Ivan's carefully careless high Vor drawl. "Miles are you sure about this? Miles, I don't understand why you won't just let us put the lights on, it's not as though subterfuge has ever been relevant to invasion tactics. Miles, are you quite sure about this? Jesek learned how to draw a map? That sounds hard. . . "

"It was a bit," offered Jesek.

". . .It must have taken _weeks_ ," Miles continued. "I, Ivan Vorpatril, am very uncomfortable with anything that requires sustained effort or the slightest bit of originality, so I will just stand around making incredibly unhelpful comments and, by the way, Miles, are you truly quite sure. . ."

"Fine, fine. I also remember pointing out that you had led us into a ten-level underground labyrinth despite not knowing the way. And yes, I know, we figured it out. Jesek turned out to be a cartographical prodigy – well done, Jesek." Jesek beamed at Ivan's praise.

Of course, Ivan had neglected to mention that Jesek also fell in a cesspool, lost his rifle, then "borrowed" another one and _started_ the near-disastrous fire by shooting it in a random direction. He particularly neglected to make the last point because Ivan had been the one who chose the random direction - how was he supposed to know that wasn't a watercooler? And why would Jesek shoot something just because Ivan suggested it? That was the kind of disconcerting idea that made Ivan wonder whether he really ever wanted to be in command of anything. "It worked out in your favor, Miles, the way things mysteriously seem to, but what if it hadn't?"

"So what brilliant ideas did _you_ have?" said Kostolitz.

"Whose side are you on?" Ivan demanded, though the question was purely rhetorical. They'd had a moment's camaraderie over Miles's boldfaced lie about his alcohol tolerance, but there wasn't any question Kostolitz was his cousin's man. He (probably) wasn't trying to get into the Vorkosigan trousers, and Miles wasn't (consciously) trying to supplant Kostolitz's sworn liege lord.

But Miles had a way of creating allies in unlikely places. Kostolitz was a mouthy prole cadet from a status-hungry merchant-class family, the sort who typically wanted nothing to do with Vor. Yet Miles had him eating off the tip of that intricately carved ornamental dagger, and Kostolitz didn't even realize it.

"Kostolitz makes a compelling point," said Miles – who knew _exactly_ what he was doing, damn the man. "If you' been given command of this exercise, what highly original approach would you have taken?"

"None! It's glorified capture-the-flag. It doesn't call for originality. I would have led a competently-executed _normal_ mission, in a perfectly _normal_ way, we would have gotten home hours earlier, and nothing would be on fire!"

"They put it out," said Jesek, then with a worried look. "They did put it out?" Kostolitz nodded and patted his arm, consolingly.

Still staring at Ivan, Miles looked horrified. "But how do you know you would have won? Out of eight squads you might finish – a respectable third if you were lucky."

"Or fourth?" Ivan shrugged. "Fifth? Might as well aim straight for the middle of the pack."

"I don't know how you live with yourself."

"You don't have to know, Miles, because everything isn't about you."

Vorpatril: Between you and me. . .the thing you have to understand about my cousin Miles. . .

Examiner: Why do you assume I want to talk about Cadet Vorkosigan?

Vorpatril: Typically, when I participate in an exercise and it's followed by a tribunal, Miles is right in the middle.. . .oops, never mind, that's [inaudible].

Examiner: Did you say 'that's classified'?

Vorpatril: Laughable, I said. That's laughable. I have definitely never been involved in anything classified. Can you imagine? Nobody even tells me about surprise parties ahead of time, and I mean ones that aren't supposed to be my surprise. Lost my train of thought, where was I?

Examiner: Cadet Vorkosigan. Also the likelihood of tribunals, which I assure you this is not.

Vorpatril: OK, well - I started with Miles because, obviously, the whole thing was his idea. Not in a bad way. He was squad leader so that was his job. Ideas!

Examiner: Cadet Kostolitz said, and I quote, "It was all of our idea."

Vorpatril: Oh. Well. Kos said that? Ironic, since I'm fairly sure he was the only one who didn't cause any property damage. Which – did he mention we, umm, took advantage of the resources that were there. Because we . . .thought it was all part of the test?

Examiner: He used those exact words, in fact.

Vorpatril: Oh, I – probably should have mixed it up a little bit. Is this part of the test? How to lie plausibly in debriefs?

Examiner: I'll pretend you didn't say that, and you can tell me more about Kostolitz. Do you know him well?

Vorpatril: We don't move in the same social circles, and I never worked with him before today. But, like I said, he's the one of us who didn't screw anything up. Seems like a damn good soldier for a pr – that is to say for a pr – Oh dammit."

Examiner: You were starting to say 'for a prole'?

Vorpatril: I should have said 'for a pretty boy'. Although – that's not too believable. He's got nice enough bone structure but that chin's on the weak side. I'm sure he'll do fine in the marriage market back in whatever district he's from but for someone like me to use an epithet like that on another cadet, he'd have to be impressive-

Examiner: Cadet Vorpatril -

Vorpatril: Sorry, I lost the thread again. It's just that 'prole' is a disfavored term now, within the Academy and really the whole Imperial Service – which branch of the service are you with again? I'd assume ImpSec but you don't have those little eyes on your lapel so, what did you say? [silence] Right. You didn't say, then. Just a general debriefing. [silence] Which is fine. [silence] Remind me where we were?

Examiner: What are your feelings about the inclusion of so-called proletarians within the ranks of the Imperial Service?

Vorpatril: I think it's great. Obviously. We need 'em, for one thing. There aren't going to be enough of us Vor in a few years, according to that fascinating demographics lecture by the visiting professora - I didn't quite grasp the math, but the social implications were so mind-blowing I wanted to discuss them over dinner, but she had to get back to Vorbarr Sultana and – where was I? Oh, yes. The equalization of social classes within the military is an important reform. If it wasn't, I'm sure Greg – that is, um, Emperor Gregor, Lord Vorbarra wouldn't be supporting it.

Examiner: I see. And, as a strong supporter of equality – you are on a first name basis with the emperor?

Vorpatril: Are you fooling with me? Or are you going to make me sit here and tell you?

Examiner: What's interesting to me is how you characterize it.

Vorpatril: Well, obviously, we ahh. . .grew up in the same house, basically. My mother's in charge of that whole shebang. The, um, Imperial Household shebang, I guess. Gregor is my cousin and Miles and I – sorry what did you say is interesting to you?

Examiner: Your subjective recitation of your own experiences?

Vorpatril: Is this psychology? Because I always think that sounds suspiciously Betan. Was this Aunt Cordelia's idea? No, it wouldn't be, she's always complaining about psychologists. But look, as long as we're talking about Betans and psychology, Miles has an interesting theory about me. He says that I'm extremely good at noticing things but not very good at putting them together. Now if you want to hear my theory about Miles. . .

Jesek

"You, down at the other end of the table," said Ivan Vorpatril. "You've been awfully quiet."

Jesek raised his gaze from his third (?) empty whiskey glass, and tried to mirror the Vor cadet's smile. A futile effort because who on Barrayar smiled that much and that unaffectedly? Not Cor Jesek, especially not since he had started his mostly miserable, often frightening career at the Imperial Service Academy. Though the whiskey might be helping. . .

No one had bothered to ask Jesek how much of the stuff _he_ was used to drinking – to which the truthful answer would have been absolutely none, ever. When Kos set the glass in front of him, Jesek had tossed the whole drink back in one gulp, and – in his most heroic act since this whole business started before dawn – swallowed without gagging.

He looked around the table and gave the others a hopeful smile. Behind the smile cowered humiliation and terror that he'd handled himself wrong, and revealed his inexperience. To his bafflement, though, the others applauded. Kos crowed, "Country boy can put 'em away!" Vorkosigan raised a glass to him, and Vorpatril, true to his word, pointed to Jesek and called to the bar for another.

So, sometime later, when Vorpatril asked why he was being so quiet, Jesek took a moment to refocus and truthfully said, "It's been a long day."

To be honest, Jesek had lost the thread of the conversation a bit. At some point, Vorpatril was supposed to be describing the contents of his interview but this had dissolved into a bewildering array of tangents. When Jesek had last tuned in, Kostolitz and Vorpatril were trying to set the words of various high Vor house anthems to the tunes of Jacksonian pop hits from the previous decade. This was complicated by the fact that Kos didn't know any Vorish anthems, and both of the Vor cadets claimed to be equally unfamiliar with the most ubiquitous galactic pop songs, the ones even a perennially uncool provincial kid like Jesek could identify from a few notes. Vorpatril was a reasonably good mimic, but Kos could hardly carry a tune and, even if he'd been any good, kept convulsing into laughter at Vorpatril's attempt to imitate him.

Even Vorkosigan was smiling. Though maybe that was just the whiskey, too.

"It was a long day," the squad leader said now. "For all of us."

"But it was a good day," Jesek said quickly. "I agree with Kos. It's the most fun I've had since I got here."

"Yeahhhh. . ." Kos tilted his head. "I said that but I didn't fall in a cesspool or lose my rifle or start any fires." Jesek liked Kos, mostly, but was starting to suspect it was easier for him to be generous about sharing the blame for the exercise's . . .complications, because Kos knew he hadn't actually screwed anything up.

"The firefighting apparatus was in place, as we knew it would be," said Vorkosigan, "and functioned efficiently as we knew it would. And now they know they just have to tweak it so that they can respond to emergencies without opening the control room to unwanted intruders."

"I'm sure they're thankful to you for that information," mumbled Vorpatril, though his cousin didn't seem to hear him.

"Besides," said Jesek. "I didn't die this time, like I usually do" The others gave him uneasy looks until he clarified. "I mean, I didn't end up with one of those yellow armbands they give to let everybody know you 'died.' In the exercise."

"Everybody screws up sometimes." Kos spoke from the increasingly alcohol-fueled conviction that 'everybody' didn't really mean himself.

"But it's good to feel like I contributed." Jesek could feel the flush of blood warming his face. The alcohol definitely wasn't helping, and he was afraid he would turn teary on top of maudlin. "It is especially important to my family. . .considering everything."

"Do you mean that story about your cousin?" Kos waved his hand. "Look, I'm not saying no one cares, but no one cares as much as you think they do. And, what did you say, he ran across the galaxy and took up life as a space pirate? Obviously, that's extremely uncool under the Barrayaran military code but . . .well, you know. Space pirates. It's kind of cool. Badass family legends shouldn't just be for Vor. . .Are you all right?"

This last was directed at Vorpatril, who seemed to have swallowed his drink the wrong way, or at least was having some kind of coughing fit. Vorkosigan whacked him on the back.

"Hey!" yelped Vorpatril.

"I hope that helped," said Vorkosigan, though it came out weirdly hostile. To Kostolitz, he said, "I don't think Jesek said it was 'pirates' his cousin was involved with. It was more like what -?"

"Mercenaries," Jesek answered.

"Still sounds cool," said Kos.

"I suppose it depends on the company," said Vorpatril. "I bet it would get boring and stupid fast - owww." He stood up, and pointed at his cousin. "You need another drink. And I need to get out of kicking range." He scuttled sideways, before backing toward the bar.

Jesek, who was now convinced he was missing something, looked at Kos to see if he was the only one.

"Vor stuff," Kos said confidently.

"You have no idea," said Vorkosigan. Then he cleared his throat, and, using Jesek's given name for the first time, said, "Cor. Listen. None of us really know what was going on with Ba—with your cousin. But I can tell you what I believe and that's – no man should be judged by the worst day of his life. I'm sorry it happened, and I'm sorry your family has suffered because of it. But. If he could talk to you. He might tell you that there are different ways to serve and - " He raised a glass. "May we each find our own."

"Yeah," Jesek said, and hoped that vigorous blinking would be enough to keep the tears out of his eyes. "Thank you. I think today I finally did."

***  
Jesek: This might sound weird, but this was one of the best exercises I've been involved in.

Examiner: Have other exercises you've been involved in resulted in larger fires?

Jesek: No, I don't think – oh, you were joking. That's very good. My understanding is that no one was hurt?

Examiner: Not that I am aware of.

Jesek: And we won. And my whole party survived. Theoretically, I mean. As part of the game. Usually someone dies and they have to wear these yellow armbands so everybody knows. A lot of times it's me. I've been seriously thinking about not coming back next term, like maybe I shouldn't have left my district in the first place.

Examiner: What was different about this time?

Jesek: I guess I've never had a squad leader actually try to figure out how I fit in. Mostly they just yell orders and get mad if you screw up, and then you have to do it again, and it's just harder. But Cadet Vorkosigan asked about my experience, and I told him how the tunnels felt natural to me because I spent so much time when I was a kid, making maps of the Dendarii caves.

Examiner: That's certainly in the Vorkosigan blood.

Jesek: Right? The caves where Piotr Vorkosigan hid from the Cetagandans were the inspiration for my whole project. What's funny is I didn't even realize he was from that Vorkosigan line until – well, obviously, I figured there can't be but so many Vorkosigans, but I didn't want to assume. I don't like people to assume I'm related to that Jesek line so. . .

Examiner: Which Jesek line would that be?

Jesek: My cousin – uhh, Baz. I didn't know him well, Dad and his brothers don't really talk ever since - not important, but I guess they called Baz a deserter, and –- maybe there was an explanation for it. Probably there was. Not an excuse of course, it would be inexcusable, but – sometimes I wish I could talk to him and find out what he was – not that I want to talk to a traitor, but just to know how something like that could happen.

Examiner: Does Vorkosigan know?

Jesek: About Baz? I told him today. I guess I didn't want to know if he'd already heard about it, before I told him. Squad commanders are always trying to trade to get rid of me, because of all the yellows. I'm not sure if Vorkosigan didn't know or if he knew and kept me anyway. Or got stuck with me in exchange for something else.

Examiner: So the squad leaders don't choose their own members?

Jesek: It varies. But I assume if he had a choice he wouldn't have ended up with me. Or Vorpatril for that matter.

Examiner: Why do you say that? They're kinsmen. You might expect they would want to work together.

Jesek: I guess you might? But between the three of us – Kos worships the ground Vorkosigan walks on, as far as I can tell. And having me on his squad, Vorkosigan at least seemed to be making the best of it. Vorpatril was the one who was questioning orders all the time. I mean, he carried them out. He's a good cadet. Obviously! Just, it didn't seem like either of their first choice.

Examiner: I see. You're saying they have a tense relationship.

Jesek: I wouldn't even know how to describe it.

Vorkosigan

The party was breaking up, and Miles was learning what happened when the first drink didn't put him to sleep. There was a sort of pleasantly disconnected feeling, which let him observe his creeping paranoia from an objective distance.

Maybe his tolerance wasn't getting better; maybe this was just a sign the barman was watering the drinks. Granted, glassy-eyed Jesek looked a little green as he half-leaned on Kostolitz, but Kos and Ivan seemed fine. Though they were both annoyingly tall - especially Ivan - maybe that had something to do with the ability to absorb alcohol into the system. What business did Ivan have being that tall, anyway? He'd probably planned it, just out of spite toward Miles.

"I'll make sure Jesek gets back to barracks," Kostolitz was saying. "You got your cousin?"

"I'll throw him over my shoulder if I need to," answered Ivan. "It wouldn't be the first time."

"Ivan. . ." Miles warned.

But Kostolitz didn't care about whatever escapade Ivan had been about to narrate. He clapped Ivan's shoulder, turned to Miles and said, "You know, this guy isn't so bad after all." And to Ivan, "Let me know if you want to borrow those concert vids I was telling you about. I didn't think I liked postcybercore psychedelia either, but when you see a room full of Komarrans just losing their minds in time to the vibrations - It's unreal. I'll comm you about it over the weekend. Bye, Miles," he added"

"Yeah," Jesek yawned. "Bye."

When the others were gone, Ivan crashed in a chair beside Miles. "What's that look?"

"I don't know how you do it. I've been cultivating Kostolitz for months and he never offered to show me his music collection." Miles regretted his words right away; the third drink made him petty and rash, as well as paranoid, apparently. Good to know.

"It's called being nice to people, Miles. It's called socializing and being friendly." He sounded like he was repeating well-worn platitudes of childhood, except that Miles had no idea who in their extended family would have given Ivan such dopey advice. "And you know what else? When you're friendly to people, instead of _cultivating_ them, you end up with friends instead of. . . instead of . . .crops?" Ivan had clearly lost the metaphor.

Miles had been going for "cultivating assets," in the spycraft sense of the word, and he'd been at least half ironic. He weighed the complexities of trying to convey any of this to Ivan Vorpatril in his own thick-tongued state, and chose discretion over valor. "Also," Miles said instead, "Kostolitz likes postcyberdelic Komarran dance music?"

"Yeah, I guess they . . .use old terraforming equipment for amplifiers? I didn't quite get it"

"That sounds appalling."

"See, Miles, this is what I mean. Lesson the first in making friends like a normal person: When someone is telling you about something they like, try saying, 'Oh, that's interesting. Tell me more.' Not -" And here he got some revenge for Miles' earlier impressions of him – "That sounds appalling!"

"I didn't say it to his face," Miles objected. "And anyway, if you end up having to listen to that stuff? I think my way is better."

"I might like it. You never know. At the least, it would be a lesson in what's popular with the pro…hey, what word are we supposed to be using instead of 'proles' again?"

"Barrayarans."

"Huh. That makes it hard to draw a distinction between the classes." Ivan took a sip of his drink, swallowed, looked at the ceiling for a moment and then said, "Oh. . . I guess I see the point, then. Huh."

Maybe it was the third drink, but Miles swore he could physically see the gears start to move inside Ivan's really not at all deficient but pathologically lazy brain. Social structures as a function of the words we use; meaning as a construction of language. The heady stuff of philology seminars that Miles had absorbed via commconsole when he was a twelve-year-old stuck in bed for six months, looking for anything to keep him occupied so he didn't lose his mind. The kind of class where Ivan wouldn't be caught dead (or at least not caught awake).

"There you go," Miles said, carefully stripping his tone of all sarcasm. "Take the facts, put them together, turn them into ideas, come to conclusions. You've got a good head on your shoulders, try using it every once in a while and you never know what could happen."

Ivan turned slowly, fastened his eyes on Miles, and just said, "Don't."

"Err. . ." It occurred to Miles that without his habitual irony, his remark had come out as really condescending. He couldn't say he was just joking, because he'd been completely serious. He thought about pointing out that he'd worked all day with Ivan and not used the word "idiot" once –- Miles' father would never believe it - but that didn't quite get at the point, either. Finally, he surrendered. "Don't what?"

"Don't try that whole routine on me. I don't care if you think I have hidden potential, and pretending to nurture it is not going to magically earn you my undying loyalty."

"I honestly have no idea what you're talking about."

"Look. I'll never be mistaken for an intellectual. But I have earned an experiential certificate in 'Miles Vorkosigan.' On top of which, I've been watching you, all day. Kostolitz – let me finish – Kostolitz will make as good an officer as anyone here, he doesn't need your patronage or whatever it is. But he loves the idea that somebody with 'Vor' in their name is paying attention to him, so you do everything you can to encourage that."

"I don't see how that's any different from pretending to care about his stupid music."

"No. You wouldn't. And we could sit here all night, and I would never be able to explain it to you."

"But you –." Miles was about to mention the time he had personally witnessed Ivan convince a woman that he was the star of a famous holovid that had been made twenty years before either of them were born, in service of a mission (ultimately successful) to get her into bed. Miles didn't bring this up now because he could already anticipate Ivan's defense that 1) it wasn't the same thing; 2) everybody did stuff like that; 3) she didn't really believe him; 4) she wanted the sex just as much as he did and he was just giving her a good story; 5) he never saw her after that night so it didn't matter and also 6) it wasn't the same thing.

Miles, who down in his heart didn't want it to be the same thing, saw no possible winning scenarios from that angle of approach. "Never mind," he said.

"And Jesek," Ivan continued. "He needed to be needed. You went on like he saved the day, but you could have read a map by yourself. I probably could have done that."

"I remember how you were falling all over yourself offering to help." Miles couldn't help it. Default sarcasm just worked better with some people.

"I remember you _not admitting we were lost_ until Jesek told you he could read the map!"

"Fine, whatever," said Miles. "I could just have given orders and let you grunts do the heavy lifting and taken care of the strategy myself. But we would all have been dealing with a freaked-out Jesek. I put a map in his hands, he had something to do, and more important, next time he's in one of these drills and someone goes, 'What can _you_ do, Jesek?' he'll have an answer for them. He's his own man with his own history and he won't just be tied to his – his family."

"Oh yeah, I meant to ask. Jesek's cousin he keeps going on about. You think that's Elena's whazzit?"

This question was so stupefyingly Ivan that Miles had to compose and discard a few responses.  
 _No. He's talking about a different Jesek who left his post and ended up on the other side of a different galaxy with a different mercenary army._ The part he decided to say out loud was, "By 'Elena's whazzit,' you mean her husband. Which, even with as much as you had to drink at their wedding, I don't believe even you could have possibly forgotten."

"I was trying to be sensitive."

"Don't. Please." Miles groaned and tilted his head back, closing his eyes. "Trying-to-be-sensitive Ivan is the worst of all possible Ivans. If you want to be sensitive, leave me and my headache in peace."

Ivan leaned close to his ear and started sing-songing - to the tune, sort of, of one of the pop songs Kostolitz had been trying to teach them - 'You don't have a headache, you're dru-unk."

"Oh, that's the Vorpatril I know. Never leave me again." Miles kept his eyes shut, and Ivan didn't speak for so long, that Miles wondered if he had quietly wandered off. Maybe Miles would have to get his own drunk body back to the Academy, in the 5 hours before morning inspection marked the end of their brief, post-training leave. Miles wondered if it served him right.

Then Ivan said, "So. That debrief nonsense. What do you think that was? Or, you know. Who?"

"He wasn't from the Academy, I'm pretty sure. Maybe not even current military – he didn't understand Kostolitz's point about alphabetical order, and they've been doing that since they opened up officer training to all classes. And how did he get on our case so fast? He wasn't just hanging around the base waiting to interview the winners, in case they happened to set something on fire. Honestly, though, I'm less concerned about who he was than about who sent him."

"I just assumed Simon Illyan," said Ivan. "He didn't have the seeing-eye doohickeys on his suit, but ImpSec's spies aren't very good spies if they always dress like spies. If you follow. Plus Simon's had a sort of horrified-slash-proprietary interest in you since. . .two years ago."

"Could be," Miles agreed. "But it could be someone who assumes we'll think he's sent by Simon."

"Oh, rot," said Ivan. "I could only be so worried when I thought it was Simon, because I assume Simon knows everything anyway. But, what? Your father's enemies? Your father's friends? Or just your father? Almost as bad. Not your mother. If Aunt Cordelia wants to know something about us, she'll just ask."

"Your mother?" Miles suggested, just to see Ivan make a face – though he wouldn't have put it past Lady Alys, now that he thought of it. Miles probably hadn't said anything about her only son that would get either of them in trouble if it got back to her. He'd made a point of saying nice things.

"My mother has all the matriarchs of Vorbarr Sultana gathering information on her behalf. I still think this is much more Simon's style."

"Maybe it is Simon but he's working with your mother."

"What could bring that unholy alliance into existence?" Ivan shuddered. "But damn, between them they would have all the resources I can imagine."

Miles decided to steer out of that curve. "Look at it from the other way, then. Maybe it's someone mimicking Simon's techniques but keeping him out of it. Gregor on his own behalf, maybe. Checking up on us to get some independent information."

"Who knows what Gregor gets up to?" Ivan agreed. "There are hidden depths in those calm waters. Though, hey, maybe he's just spying on us because he's jealous he has to do all those imperial things. Instead of the fun we're having."

"Crawling through tunnels. Starting fires."

"Gregor would definitely have looked interested while Kostolitz talked about his music collection."

"He'd really have _been_ interested. That's why he's better than we are."

"Yeah. _That's_ why." They both laughed, without much energy.

"By the way," said Ivan. "That interviewer kept saying he wasn't concerned with cadet disciplinary issues, but thinking back on it – he didn't actually say that there wouldn't _be_ disciplinary action."

"I wouldn't worry about that."

"Should I ask why?"

"Probably not." Miles looked regretfully at his empty glass. "I was very well behaved in my debriefing, y'know. Most of the good stuff happened beforehand."

***  
Vorkosigan: The most important thing to take note of here is that we won.

Examiner: You feel that winning the training exercise is more important than the fire you started?

Vorkosigan: The fire's out. No one was injured, which is no surprise, since proper firefighting protocols were in place. As we knew they would be.

Examiner: And the wasted man hours, the property damage? This fits with your understanding of victory conditions?

Vorkosigan: It's funny, I was just meeting with the chief instructor and the commandant of the base. Have you spoken to them, or have you been busy interrogating my men?

Examiner: This isn't an interrogation. Nor is it a tribunal, which is an interesting word that Cadet Vorpatril used.

Vorkosigan: Ivan knows a lot of words. He tends to use them a bit randomly, to be honest. Do you want to know what the chief instructor and the commandant said?

Examiner: You want to tell me.

Vorkosigan: The commandant had a similar question to yours, about victory conditions. He was very interested in the precise instructions that were issued to thirty-two energetic and motivated cadets before they were set loose on an active military installation.

Examiner: I imagine there were some comments regarding how the cadets might take advantage of the resources that were available, with the assumption that it was all part of the test.

Vorkosigan: There was some discussion of appropriate supervision, now that you mention it. And in return, the chief instructor wondered why, when the commandant agreed to have his facilities overrun by energetic and motivated cadets, he did not make a greater effort to ensure that – for example – experimental weapons were not lying around where just anyone could get to them. I'm not saying that the particular cadet who brought these problems to the attention deserves a commendation but –

Examiner: You would take one if it was offered. I see. I regret to inform you that I am not here to nominate you for the Imperial Prize for setting a building on fire. However, after talking to your squad members, I have most of the information I need. If you could just review for me – how precisely were these assignments handed out?

Vorkosigan: We had eight squad leaders – all upper level cadets who had successfully led team exercises before, since this was going to be a complex one. Actually nine of us were eligible to lead the squads, but we only needed eight. Cadet Vorpatril lost a coin toss.

Examiner: I'm sure he was devastated.

Vorkosigan: You really have talked to Ivan already.

Examiner: For quite some time. I suppose for clarity of the transcript, my earlier comment was sarcasm. Cadet Vorpatril did not seem particularly keen on assuming a leadership role, at this stage in his training. So, Cadet Vorkosigan, what happened when you did begin your training exercise?

Vorkosigan: We were each given a territory and assigned three men. Officially, you had to work with the area and group you were given.

Examiner: But in practice?

Vorkosigan: No one really cares. People trade assignments, team members, et cetera. So I traded for the territory that included the cliff face. The cadet who had that territory was eager to get it off his hands, though he still didn't want me to have it. He figured if I wanted it there must be some hidden angle.

Examiner: The tunnels.

Vorkosigan: Yes. I'd scoped them out already. A few years ago with my – with my former armsman. But I didn't let on about that, of course. The other guy was suspicious so to sweeten the deal I finally agreed to take – this is just between us?

Examiner: I have no plans to share this information with the rest of your squad, if that's what you mean.

Vorkosigan: I had to agree to take Jesek off his hands. People think he's a jinx, because of all those yellows.

Examiner: But you had secret knowledge of his competence as well?

Vorkosigan: Not at the time. But listen. I assume everyone who is in this Academy deserves to be here. And, as you will have heard from my squad members, Cadet Jesek acquitted himself admirably. He's an ace at orienteering, which involves skills that could easily transfer to five-dimensional -

Examiner: Cadet Vorkosigan, I must clarify that I am not involved in placement of Academy cadets. I am curious whether your choice of Cadet Jesek was in any way influenced by the situation involving his cousin.

Vorkosigan: I'm afraid I'm not familiar with what you're referring to.

Examiner: Baz Jesek?

Vorkosigan: Doesn't ring a bell. Is this something I should know about?

Examiner: I was merely curious. Let's talk about Kostolitz.

Vorkosigan: Great cadet. Going to be a great officer. He was in my original assigned squad, but I wouldn't have traded him for love or money.

Examiner: He admires you a great deal.

Vorkosigan: It goes both ways. He's a personal friend.

Examiner: Hmmm.

Vorkosigan: I believe one of the ideals behind the Imperial Service Academy is to promote such friendships. If it were just about learning skills, we wouldn't all have to be packed together in the same place.

Examiner: And your cousin Ivan?

Vorkosigan: Are you asking if we're personal friends?

Examiner: If you like. But primarily, how he got on your team.

Vorkosigan: Ahh. The thing is. If Ivan thought I'd got him into this on purpose, he wouldn't be too happy with me.

Examiner: But you did.

Vorkosigan: I won't admit or deny a thing.

Examiner: My understanding, from Kostolitz and Jesek, is that Cadet Vorpatril countered all of your suggestions, and questioned every decision you made. Did you anticipate that?

Vorkosigan: You said that you'd met Ivan. I've known him since we were infants. What do you think?

Examiner: If you expected him to fight your leadership then, I wonder you would have wanted him on your squad.

Vorkosigan: Hypothetically. Sometimes when you're going on a hard mission. The guy who will ask those questions is the guy you need. Just – don't tell him I said that.

"Ivan?" said Miles, his cheek comfortably resting against the table top. "I'm sure it's just the liquor that's about to put me to sleep talking, but I'm glad you were there with me today."

"I'm sure it is the liquor," Ivan said, though his voice was gentle. Then, more heartily: "You just keep your head where it is, and I'll settle up the bill."

"Okay. I think we were on my round by the end though."

"Oh we were. I took your wallet an hour ago."

Miles grunted vague assent and, figuring he at least didn't have to worry about having his money stolen _again_ , closed his eyes.

No one bothered him until, sometime later, Ivan slipped back into his chair and said, "Miles. Miles?" A finger poked the back of Miles' head, but he decided not to move. The light flickered through his closed eyelids as Ivan put a hand in front of his face – to see if he was breathing?

Then Ivan sighed and leaned down close to his ear. "For the record, you idiot. You already have my undying loyalty."

"I know," mumbled Miles.

"Vorkosigan, you sure know how to ruin a nice moment."

"S'what I'm good at."

"Of course," said Ivan. "Now let's figure out how to get you home."

The rest of the evening was kind of a blur.

Epilogue: Illyan

Dear Lady Alys:

I hope this message finds you well. I have been giving much thought to our recent conversation regarding your son, Ivan. You expressed some concern at the time regarding the boy's association with Miles Vorkosigan. I understand that you hold your nephew in high regard on his own account, as we all do on a personal level - even as we may find him to present a professional challenge. However, I also share your awareness that Ivan's association with Miles has, in the past, placed your son into a position of physical peril, for which Ivan's survival instincts may not yet be sufficiently developed. I informed you at the time that, according to my sources at the Imperial Service Academy, the boys' careers were developing on sufficiently separate trajectories to remove any immediate causes of concern.

Since that time, an incident of which you are no doubt by this time aware, has come to my attention, involving both young men. I will not belabor the details, which are thoroughly accounted for in the attached documents.

By happenstance, at the time that this incident occurred, a gentleman in my employ was visiting the relevant location on an unrelated matter. He accepted my request, as a personal favor unrelated to official Imperial Security duties, to question the members of your son's squad, specifically with regard to interpersonal dynamics related to your nephew's leadership decisions and, secondarily, to Ivan's involvement. I found the results to be enlightening and, while I do not wish to impose my interpretation onto the field data at this juncture, more encouraging than I might otherwise have expected.

I have taken the precaution of encoding both this message and the enclosed documents in a unique cipher, but I trust it will pose no difficulty to a lady of your talents.

I will, as always, leave to your discretion, the decision with whom to share the contents of this missive, as well as its existence. However, I should inform you that, while I believed Count Vorkosigan would be interested, he informed me in no uncertain terms that he was not. Regarding the Countess, I would not presume to believe that my judgment in that quadrant is superior to your own.

As always, destroy after reading.

Your servant,  
-S


End file.
